Out Went the Lights
by Blakrobe
Summary: Voldemort is the last living thing on Earth. Is there anything that can stop him, when he looks set to outlive the very universe?


Out Went The Lights  
  
The sky was very dark, and strewn with clouds. In between the clouds, a blackening purple as the sun set, you could just about see the stars, those that remained after all this time. The ground was scorched, and covered in ashes. Two hundred years ago, stark trees, barely surviving fires, had pointed accusingly to the heavens. Now even these had gone the way of all things. The oceans were clogged and murky, and unclean. Nothing could drink of them and live, but the only living thing alive anymore had no need for food or drink. He had done his damned best to get immortality, without knowing what he would do with it when he had it. He sat on a blackened husk of a throne. He had treated it with magics to keep it from collapsing, but these could only do so much. The tower in which he had kept it had long since crumbled. That had been seventy years ago, when time had finally conquered the stones. Time had conquered all but him. All but Voldemort.  
  
His chalk white, marble-strong body had not aged for…well, was it five hundred years now? Approximately. Voldemort had lost count a very long time ago.  
  
Three hundred years ago, and the victory had lost its taste. Dumbledore…he had gone in the early days. Or was that just how Voldemort remembered it? It was so hard to keep track of memories anymore. After that, it had been a matter of time before the Dementors and the Death-Eaters had razed Hogwarts to the ground, and killed most of the survivors as they fled. Those few who had escaped to anonymity, and remained hidden for the rest of their lives had succumbed to time as all did. Voldemort and his followers had ruled over the Muggles then, playing with them at whim. If a Muggle gave birth to a wizard or witch, the child, the Muggle, and all blood relatives were killed. Eventually Mud-bloods were no longer a problem.  
  
Problems. Voldemort strained hard to remember the child, Harry Potter. He found that he could not even remember what his adversary looked like, and this troubled him. He could not remember if he had killed the boy, if a servant had, or if even the boy had become a man, and then an old man, and then a corpse. This troubled him more, even though it was without doubt that the enemy was dead.  
  
All his enemies were dead. Even the Death-Eaters were gone now. Some of the families had died out in the natural order of things. A few had been killed by a few surviving vagabond wizards and witches. The rest were killed by Voldemort himself when they began their own researches into immortality.  
  
Voldemort could not remember the names of his servants these days. He had had a list, but it had rotted away. His robes had rotted too, although he paid that no mind these days. He sat, naked, cold, unfeeling, and empty, upon a decaying throne, surrounded by ashes upon the Earth he had killed two hundred and fifty years ago, with flames he pulled from the sky.  
  
He almost smiles. That had been the last time he laughed at destruction too. Or anything else for that matter.  
  
Something seems different tonight. Voldemort stretches (his joints would surely crack, an observer might think, but Voldemort is immortal after all), and steps from his throne. He walks naked through the ashes, his red eyes searching for a path. He can walk anywhere, the ground is flat, although thickly coated. There is a soft noise as he walks across the scorched ground, and soon his feet are black.  
  
He walks through the darkness, until he comes to a bleak rock that overlooks the blackened land where London had once been. He can only recognise it by the indentation of the basin the city was built on.  
  
He floats down from the rock, and comes to land in the basin. He walks until he feels at home. Although the city long ago crumbled away to time, he somehow knows that this is where his path truly began. On this spot, centuries ago, is the place where he had once bought his wand. But that was long ago and the building is no longer there, and he forgets the last time he had needed a wand in any case.  
  
He sits down in rubble and ashes, and thinks for a while. It may have been five minutes, a year, or a century even (time mattered for little anymore), but in time he heard footsteps in the ashes behind him. It seemed little worth the effort to stand up, and so he merely glanced behind him lazily.  
  
There was a girl there, a pretty girl. She was dressed in an expensive black ball gown, although the skirt was semi-transparent, and revealed torn black jeans underneath. Her skin was paler than Voldemort's, as though her skin had never suffered the warmth of blood. Her lips were painted black, and an ornate swirl of black eyeliner descended from beneath her eyes like a work of art. Her hair was raven black, but was very messy. What impressed Voldemort the most was that she was the only person who had not been struck with terror that he had seen for a long time. In fact, she was the only living human he had seen for…well, a century or two probably. Longer if he had lost count, as he often did.  
  
She stood there, watching, but not saying a word.  
  
Voldemort stood up and turned to face her. A long time ago, he would have killed her just for being there. But he hadn't talked to anyone in a very long time. His lips and mouth were dry, and it took some effort to speak. He croaked inaudibly, and was forced to cough a little before trying again.  
  
'You look familiar.' He started with. 'Are you one of my Death-Eaters?' even as he said this, the idea seemed somehow silly. She was someone he had never dominated, he suspected, although that was absurd. Had he not ruled the dead Earth?  
  
'No.' she said simply, and laughed lightly, like silver bells. She laughed without much mirth, however, and not for long. 'I have met them though. I've met all your Death-Eaters. I meet a lot of people.' She seemed to be trying to nudge Voldemort along a certain path in the conversation.  
  
Voldemort was not used to being given directions however, and he resisted. 'You're dressed for an important occasion?' he asked, with a slight hint of a sneer, although it died under the ice of her gaze.  
  
'You could say it's an important occasion. Something like this doesn't happen everyday. Actually, it happens just the once.'  
  
'A party?' this time Voldemort really did sneer.  
  
'Pretty much. I just have to turn out the lights here, clean up a little, and then you get to join the rest of us. We've all been waiting you know. There's a lot of people going to be there.'  
  
'Important people?' Voldemort was interested despite himself.  
  
'Some of them were. Some kings, princes, empresses, priestesses, gods and goddesses, inventors and destroyers, artists and scientists, lovers and warriors. A lot of people who were never very important, except to those who knew them well. And to me. I sympathise with them all really, although most of them don't expect that. We all have a job to do right, and it doesn't make us a bad person, what we have to do.' The girl paused, and looked Voldemort up and down. Voldemort shivered as the girl continued, 'Most of us anyway. You know, I really never liked you that much. But that's not my problem. Sooner or later it's my ball game, regardless of what you did.'  
  
Voldemort was finally starting to let himself realise a few important details. Sensations were creeping into his head, unpleasant thoughts. Suddenly he was starting to think that maybe none of his victories had ever mattered a damn. Ever. He was immortal, he had conquered death…no. He hadn't had he? He'd just got a little longer than everyone else…  
  
'Who are you?' asked Voldemort, feeling slightly scared, and a little bit sick. He already knew the answer he would get.  
  
'I'm the Leveller.' Answered the girl, smiling a little sadly, 'I'm Death. I come for everyone eventually. I had to take an aspect of one of my young sisters, a long time ago. Long before you. The aspect that followed was over-worked while your followers were at large. She sits with her mirrors now, but her job is almost done. I took an aspect of my brother too. I miss him, but he couldn't take it anymore. He really couldn't. I took your victims, I took your followers. I've taken gods and devils and demons. All that is left is you, and then me and my family can finally rest. We've been doing our jobs forever, and without any thanks too for that matter. So now we get to leave the universe, and head off to the great beyond. Now you get to find out what happens next, where you sent everyone else ahead.'  
  
'But I'm immortal!' gasped Voldemort, starting to panic. 'You can't take me! I defeated you! Nothing can destroy me!'  
  
Death still looked slightly sad. 'You're coming now. It's your fault it ended like that, but that's between you and- well, can't tell you now. Not while you're still alive. But you'll see. But you do die now. You're the last one, but now you die.'  
  
Voldemort was staring wide eyed behind the girl- behind Death. He could see the first bright light that he had seen in over one hundred years.  
  
Death said one last thing before Voldemort died: 'Even you won't survive a super-nova. There are a lot of people waiting for us to arrive. You'll see.'  
  
The sun exploded, and flame reached towards the Earth.  
  
'I'm sorry.' Said Voldemort, in the last second of his life, although he wasn't sure he meant it.  
  
And out went the lights. 


End file.
